Second Sight
by Paradoxal Reality
Summary: Putting the ghost of Agatha the "witch" to rest had seemed dangerous at the time, but Norman Babcock was about to learn how dangerous his gift truly was. ParaNorman story, set after the movie.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, another fandom! I loved this movie, and well.. this was pretty much inevitable.

* * *

"Dad! Dad, answer me!" Norman could hear himself screaming desperately in the darkness. Why was he so upset? His brain felt like frozen molasses as he struggled to think.

"DAD! Can you see anything? Tell me what you see!"

The boy wondered in a vague, disconnected way if he was losing his mind. Should he be worried? He was almost certain that he should be worried. Hm, should he be worried that he didn't feel any particular anxiety over his lack of worrying? It was all so confusing. And why was it so dark? Was it night time?

"Norman! LOOK OUT!"

The eleven year old sat bolt upright with a gasp, gulping precious life-giving air as though he'd been drowning. His zombie alarm clock had not yet begun to twitch and groan yet its fitful signal of the start to a new day. The boy pushed a hand across his face, grimacing at the sweat that clung to his brow. Great, he was going to have to shower. At least he might actually have time, if he could chase Courtney out of the bathroom. With a heavy sigh, he wrested himself out of bed and shambled in what he liked to think was a grotesque way towards the bathroom he shared with his sister.

Courtney wasn't as obnoxious to him now as she had been before the _"Agatha Incident"_ two weeks prior. In fact, the bullying and torment that had once been part of Norman's everyday life had nearly disappeared. His locker wasn't defaced on a daily basis, his books weren't dumped in the fountain, and no one had pointed at him and laughed cruelly since the anniversary.

Now they just seemed to stare, for the most part.

But they still didn't know him. Norman had giddily entertained the thought that acceptance might be his after putting Aggie to rest. The rest of the town still saw her as a witch. He fully intended to tell his parents and sister the truth about what had happened. He'd given them the basics that the witch had been a misunderstood person who had been unjustly killed. They'd been able to handle that. He just had to find the right time to tell them the whole truth. The town had been given the same explanation. They seemed much less able to accept it.

The town's identity being built so heavily on the lie probably had a lot to do it that.

By and large, the town still saw him as a freak. A useful, heroic freak, but still a freak. There were still whispers behind his back, but now they didn't precede a kick me sign being taped to his back. People still gave him a wide berth as he moved through town or the school hallways, but now he wasn't tripped when he least expected it. A few girls still came up to him and acted nice, but now they were trying to up their social cred by convincing him to date them instead of leading up to a cruel "JUST KIDDING, DORK!" in front of the entire cafeteria.

So far, he hadn't taken any of them up on their overtures of admiration and friendship. Two weeks of acting decently towards him wasn't enough to make him forget an entire scholastic career's worth of teasing.

Was he being oversensitive? Maybe. But like Grandma Babcock liked to say "Forgive, but don't forget." The phrase usually lead into a long digression about someone who'd swindled her and his grandpa out of money, or the time she'd caught neighborhood kids breaking into her garage. While the little old woman had forgiven the transgressions, she clearly recalled who had done them and what their rationale had been at the time. In fact, her recollection about the events was almost frighteningly perfect. In life, she had paraded the recall to tremendous, unnerving effect against those who had wronged her. Norman suspected that the huge turnout at his grandmother's funeral was at least in part due to many of the citizens wanting to be certain that Grandma Babcock actually was dead, and therefore unable to keep hanging the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads by the single, hair's breadth thickness of her forgiveness.

The boy perked up when he realized that the bathroom was abandoned. He'd awakened early AND Courtney had already been and gone? Clearly, this was an ill omen. There was probably a huge influx of penguins in the underworld right now. Norman decided to celebrate the apparent apocalypse with an extra-long shower.

His alarm had begun to spasm and moan by the time he returned to his room to dress. Just as he was pulling his favorite red hoodie on, the floating apparition of his grandmother appeared through the door. "Norman! Better wake- Oh, you're up?" The elderly phantom almost looked put out by his early morning activity. "When did you become a morning person?"

The boy laughed the comment off as he reached for his shoes. "I woke up early. I was having a weird dream," Norman's face fell as he struggled to recall the details. "I.. I don't really remember what it was about, just that there was a lot of yelling."

Grandma Babcock snorted. "That narrows it down, doesn't it?" she asked with a rueful chuckle. Her eyes glittered fondly as she watched her grandson fight with the gordian knot that composed his left shoelace. "True," the boy sighed. "Way too true. I wish I could remember it. It almost seemed important, but I can't remember why. I can't remember feeling anything about it. It was like watching a movie you've seen a million times before, but one that you're having to fight to stay interested in."

"Casablanca," his grandmother intoned.

"Casa..?" Norman echoed, bewildered at the interjection.

"Casablanca," the ghost repeated, "I've seen that movie a thousand times if I've seen it once. It's supposed to be this huge, significant movie with all this meaning and drama. And for MY money, reruns of The Price is Right will beat it for suspense and heartbreak every time." So saying, she followed him as he moved down the hallway and into the kitchen. His mother, completely unaware of the supernatural guest in the room, walked right through the old woman on her way to the front door to see his father off. Norman did his best not to wince as she patted him on the head. Despite his full intention not to, Norman found himself turning to watch his dad leave for work. His father had been looking at him with disappointment for so many years that Norman couldn't even remember when it started. Since _the Incident_, however, it was almost as though his dad couldn't quite bring himself to look Norman in the eye. On the occasions that he did, the man was clearly uncomfortable, like he'd somehow put on shoes that were two sizes too small.

Honestly, it was uncomfortable for both of them. Norman dropped his gaze and turned his attention to an in-depth study of the kitchen table when his father appeared at the front door. Some small, mean part of him wanted to shout "I was right! I knew what I was talking about all this time and you never believed me!" His conscience always beat that impulse down with a giant mallet of guilt as soon as it appeared, but the game of emotional whack-a-mole would start up again soon enough.

The fact was that he WAS right. He HAD known what he was talking about. And his father had, in his awkward way, asked to be forgiven.

Norman had forgiven his dad, but like Grandma he had not forgotten. And neither had his dad. The mutual acknowledgement that they wronged each other in deed and in mind hung heavily between them.

A bowl of cereal appeared before him, causing the boy to blink in surprise.

"Better eat fast hon," his mother said with a tired, diplomatic smile. "You don't want to be late!"

A glance at the kitchen clock revealed that all of his extra time had evaporated like ectoplasm under a microscope. How long had he been sitting here that his mom thought he was waiting to be served? He nodded in gratitude to her, and began shoveling the tasteless stuff down. He didn't want to be a bother. He really didn't.

Things just always seemed to happen that way with Norman Babcock.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The day just keeps getting weirder for our boy Norman.

The walk to school was taking longer than usual.

Greeting every ghost he saw on his way had the effect of slowing his progress considerably, but he couldn't bear not to do it. He understood the ghosts. He'd always understood them. Most of them just wanted to be acknowledged. They just wanted someone to see them and accept them as they were.

Kind of like him, actually.

His natural empathy would not allow him to ignore them. To do so would be to be self-centered and just.. wrong. He couldn't deny them some basic human interaction. Not when they looked at him with those eyes; those startled, hopeful "Oh my gosh, you can see me!" eyes.

Today, however, the ghosts seemed agitated. A few, he noted, seemed to be missing altogether.

The typical greet and gone approach didn't seem to be working, and he found himself pausing at nearly every specter he encountered, trying to make sense of the sudden sweeping dread that seemed to have them unsettled. The machine gun-toting mobster in his cement-filled washtub was still there, watching the sky with narrow eyes as his frightened fishy companions skulked close to the ground below him.

Harriet, the former heiress-turned-daredevil-turned-ghost was also in her customary spot, but didn't return the greeting that the boy shouted at her. Instead, it was the old hippie who meditated below Harriet's tree greeted the boy with tired eyes.

"Harsh vibes comin' in, man." The old hippie greeted Norman with a thoughtful frown. "You feel it? Lotta folks just lit on out this mornin'. It's like, bad news. An' it's comin' on real fast-like. Mebbe it's already here, an' we're jus' now feelin' things get un-groovy, y'know?"

Norman shrugged cautiously. The hippie was prone to fits of pseudo-deep babbling, but there was no denying the unease that hung thick in the air.

"Yeah," he finally agreed. "It's almost like something is.. watching us."

The ghosts still milling about in the streets all stopped their nervous watching of the skies. The figure of a cranky old man muttered "So it's real" so softly that Norman almost missed it due to the mobster beside him panicking. "I'm getting outta here, capiche?" the mobster dude began bouncing down the street, washtub and all. It would have been hilarious if several other ghosts didn't also take flight, apparently spooked into motion by Norman's observation. Soon he was alone with Harriet and the Hippie.

"Well that's new," he sighed. "Now I scare DEAD people."

"Be careful, kid," Harriet suddenly called down to him. "I can't say what this feels like, but it sure don't feel good."

"I will," he replied, breaking into a jog as the alarm on his phone began to tweet insistently with questioning text messages from his friend Neil. His absense would soon be noted in an official manner, it seemed.

He'd made no progress figuring out what was wrong with everyone, and now he was really and truly late. He pushed himself into a sprint as the school building loomed into his sight, hopeful that he'd beat Mr. Davison to locking the exterior door. Luck seemed to be with him as he trotted through the abandoned school courtyard and cautiously darted inside the building. He silently sent his thanks to whatever had kept the man from sealing the entrance.

Norman now moved just barely as fast as he dared, trading some speed for stealth as he scurried for home room. The empty halls testified that class had already begun, and the memory of the last time the Assistant Principal had caught him attempting to sneak into class made his left eye start to twitch.

As he gently eased open his classroom door, he noted the teacher, one Mrs. Parks by name, attempting to interrupt the student's chatter with a small amount of gentle dignity. His sister had suffered through the cantankerous old harpie's class when she was his age, during which time she'd bestowed the nickname "Dammit Janet" on the teacher for reasons he could only guess at. The notion that the woman had been around so long and still looked the same made Norman suspect that Mrs. Parks was either a ghoul or perhaps a vampire who'd developed a middling tolerance for sunlight.

For the moment, Mrs. Parks seemed to be paying him no mind. Thankful for the distraction, Norman slid into the room and ducked his head a bit as he sidestepped around the frustrated teacher and headed for his desk. As he sat down, he noted an unfamiliar face. A girl his age with cinnamon-hued straight hair in thick braids and large dark green eyes was standing next to the teacher's desk as though waiting to be introduced by the irritable instructor.

She was obviously new, taking in both the students and the teacher with little short of open horror. She fiddled with her blouse cuffs, nervously hoping to be shown her seat. Her gaze caught his eye and she blinked in surprise at his scrutiny, but then favored him with a soft giggle and a shy wave. Norman raised his own hand in greeting, wondering what the new girl must think of them all.

"Quiet!" Mrs. Parks bellowed, all pretense of quiet dignity gone with her patience. Janet Parks liked to pretend at being an august lady, but everyone who had ever had her class knew that a man-eating dragon lurked just below the surface. Norman had the misfortune of experiencing her as his home room teacher for three years. It was just one of those little non-joys of his life that made him certain that some higher being had it out for him.

"Nice of you to join us this morning, Mr. Babcock."

Oh yes, someone up there really didn't like him. He gave the perturbed instructor a sheepish smile. She favored him with a glare that brought to mind rancid milk before continuing the lecture on behavior that the class was paying little to no mind to. From the disinterested way she rushed through the material, Norman guessed that this was her third attempt at getting through the whole thing.

"As I was saying, you all know the policies on new students, so follow them. We have certain standards that we follow, and I expect you all to adhere to them!"

Norman fought the urge to roll his eyes. Where had these high standards been when someone filled his locker with cottage cheese, which someone had creatively labeled as "ghost diarrhea" last year?

The new girl sidestepped around Mrs. Parks, throwing Norman a parting smile as she headed for an empty seat across the room. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he blushed.

"Well, um... like I said, I'm Lucy. I-I look forward to meeting you all later," she announced hesitantly to the class. She picked absently at the brown plaid skirt she was wearing. "I hope we'll all be great friends!" The class ignored her in favor of watching their teacher stare them all down, grumbling about the years she had yet to serve before retirement. The girl made a last nervous grin at them all and slid down in her new desk.

Almost as soon as the red haired girl found her seat, the classroom door swung open again. A short, glowering figure stalked into the room beside the Assistant Principal, allowing the door to thump loudly into the wall as the startled Mr. Davison scrambled to catch it.

For the second time that morning, Norman found himself examining a new student. The newcomer had messy dark hair that partially hid the scowl on her face. Her clothes were ill-fitting and looked a little out of date. Dark brown eyes moved over the classroom as though searching for potential prey. They paused at the formerly cheerful Lucy before continuing their relentless scan. They stopped on the stunned Norman for a moment, then returned to Lucy. The bubbly girl stood and waved at the newcomer, giving her a broad grin like a toothpaste advertisement come to life.

"Hi! I'm Lucy! I'm new today too! Come sit by me, okay? We can be best newbie friends!" The dark haired girl's lip curled in a sneer of distaste.

"Transfer students this late in the year are always trouble," Mrs. Parks growled, striding over to the door and flinging it shut almost on top of the retreating form of Mr. Davison. "You can all engage in your mindless chatter at recess! Seats! NOW!"

Unlike the rest of the class, the new girl didn't jump at the dragon-lady's roar. She stood there in her shapeless clothing, silhouetted against the marker board that dominated the wall behind her, giving every impression that she'd move when she was darn well good and ready, and no force on Earth would move her until then. Norman squinted slightly at the girl. Was it his imagination? No, something was there, just over her left shoulder. A soft, foggy, shimmering distortion that could have been a trick of the flickering fluorescent light that she stood under.

The fog shifted a little, and Norman discovered that the somber girl was staring straight at him once more, meeting his startled gaze with one like ice. She moved forward, and Norman gave a slight jump of surprise. As she headed for a vacant seat in the back of his row, she paused beside him. Out of reflex or out of subconscious recognition of her body language, he did not turn his head to look up at her.

"There are none so blind as those who can see," she hissed softly, emphasizing the final word so that it might as well have been formed out of three story tall letters right there in front of him.

A/N: Yeah, this isn't going to be typical. Promise.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for your great feedback! It's a little shorter than I'd like, but here's the next chapter!

* * *

The nervous feeling that had gripped the ghosts was all but forgotten as Norman went about his day. It was an uncommonly good day of classes for him. Even Mr. Feynman's bio class was going smoothly, without so much as a phantom frog to disturb his concentration.

Norman leaned back a little in his seat and let himself relax. He was almost home-free. Last class of the day, and the coast was clear! No bullies trying to see if his upstanding shock of hair would take on a swirl-like pattern if subjected to a dunk in a flushed toilet. Not even any surprise pop quizzes. When the class was prompted to pick partners for the upcoming lab project, Norman was surprised that Lucy bashfully approached him.

"Umm...!" She smiled brightly at him for a moment, then let out a flustered titter. "Oh, I don't know your name!"

He smiled. "It's Norman,"

"Norman!" Lucy giggled. "I'm sorry, I always get nervous around new people! Um, so I was wondering if you'd be my partner."

Norman blinked at her hesitantly. "Uh, mind if I ask why?" The long-running tradition of girls approaching him to utterly embarrass him was still making the boy nervous.

"Well..." The girl trailed off, fingering one of her long braids. The boy found himself a bit mesmerized by them. How did girls concoct these complicated hairstyles? So many little segments, interwoven to make a fragile-looking but surprisingly strong whole...

"I just..." Lucy sighed, then straightened her posture. "This is going to sound so silly. You smiled at me this morning, before class. When you smiled at me, I decided that you must be a really nice person. And.. maybe it just sounds stupid, but I really like being around nice people, you know?"

Norman nodded slowly. He knew exactly what she meant, alright. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Sure, I'll be your lab partner."

"Norman!"

Neil Downe practically leaped on the smaller boy's shoulders, shaking him to get his attention. "Did you hear? We get to pick our own lab partners! Isn't that awesome? What do you think? Us guys! Bros! LAB PARTNERS! On a quest to-!"

"Sorry Neil, I already have a partner."

Neil visibly deflated. "Oh." The larger boy stood up, scuffing a shoe on the cracked linoleum tile and shooting a glance over his shoulder at the rest of the class. "Is that so, Mr. Popular? Look Norman, you don't have to-!"

Norman stood as well, pressing into his friend's personal space. "Neil, it's not like that. She just asked me first, that's all." For a moment, the boys stared each other down as the girl between them watched awkwardly.

At last, the redhead ran a hand over his short, curly hair, conceding defeat. Neil started to say something else, then shook his head. "Look, this is getting tense, let's just... meet up later. Okay?"

Norman nodded, glad that the conflict had been avoided. He knew Neil was pretty clingy due to how dedicated the boy had been to becoming Norman's friend, and getting him to play with the ghost of his dog, Bub. For heaven's sakes though, jealousy over a "pals before gals" situation? That was such high school drama!

"Sure. I'll see you after school, okay?"

Neil gave him a half-grin before turning back to his other friend, the resident school super-nerd. It was odd, in a way. Norman, Neil and Salma had all been social outcasts, but Salma and Norman had never really warmed up to each other in the way you'd expect a trio of societal misfits to do. Neil was the bridge that connected the two, and it was to her side that the heavier boy now returned. She gave the psychic an ice-like glare, which prompted him to look away.

Norman wondered if the non-scientific nature of his supernatural friends was what put her off him. The penetrating glare of the other new girl in class found him for a moment, and he started at the realization that she'd been standing behind Salma watching the entire exchange between himself and Neil. An echo of her comment from that morning hissed its way through his brain.

_'...None so blind as those who can **see**.'_

He shivered reflexively.

Lucy's presence shifted behind him, and Norman moved to return his attention to her. She gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged. "I'm sorry, I guess I made things awkward."

The boy shook his head no, eager to dispel any thought that the girl might have to bow out of the project. "No no, it's fine. Neil's just a little clingy." The girl nodded in understanding, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've known people like that. Always trying to be with you every second of the day like they're your shadow, trying to make you do what they want to do, insisting they know better than you..." Lucy frowned, the first such expression Norman had seen on the girl. "They can be such parasites."

An awkward silence hung between the two, as Norman waged a silent war in his head over whether to come to Neil's defense or admit that there were times he really did miss his comfortable solitude.

"Come on," Lucy grinned. "Let's get away from the Glare Bears, I don't think I can do anything with them staring at me." she smirked knowingly at the boy. "I mean, who does that?. Let's go outside and brainstorm! It's a free period!" So saying, she shouldered her bag and darted for the door. Norman grinned, hurrying to collect his things and follow. He liked this girl. She was energetic, positive, and she had never called him a loser.

She also had no idea that he was a hero of sorts, which meant her overtures of friendship could only be honest and sincere. He rushed out of the classroom after the laughing girl, following her as she traced a roundabout route through the school building, avoiding teachers, hall monitors, and somehow still staying just ahead of him. At last she seemed to be running out of steam as she took a turn Norman realized would leave her with nowhere else to go. He let a victorious grin touch his face as he moved to cut off any escape on the stairwell. With a shriek of mock-terror, Lucy shoved open the door to the roof, jogging a hesitant circle around the perimeter before collapsing in a giggling heap near the security fence that guarded the north edge of the roof. "Okay!" she hiccuped, "I give up! You win!"

"Did you get lost or something?" he called after her, laughing aloud at how ridiculous their flight through the Blithe Middle School had just been. If anyone had seen them, they'd have been in big trouble.

"A little," she admitted, sitting up and smiling at him. "You're beat, why not come over here and relax? The view's better!"

Norman straightened up self-consciously. "Well," he panted, "It wouldn't take much to beat the view of the air conditioner." He moved over next to the edge of the roof with Lucy, and admired the sight of the cloudless sky over Blithe Hollow. Distantly, he heard the final bell signalling the end of classes somewhere in the distance.

"Norman.. There's another reason I wanted to talk to you alone."

Lucy's voice was soft, hesitant. Norman found himself drawn to her obvious worry. "What's the matter? Is someone picking on you?" he guessed. "The best thing to do is just ignore them, they get bored when you don't take the bait. Maybe... maybe I can say something to them..?"

"N-No.. It's... Oh this is just stupid. Please, don't worry about it." Lucy stood up, rubbing her hands over her arms as though chilled.

"Lucy, let me help. You're my friend, and friends help each other," the boy pressed. "You can trust me."

His companion smiled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I trust you," she whispered in a soft voice before her expression hardened. She turned abruptly, long braids swinging around her pinched face. "It's that girl, Cass! I've tried talking to her, tried being nice to her, I've even tried ignoring her and she just... stares at me." the redhead began to pace the rooftop, brown skirt fluttering softly with the fast pace. "That's really why I ran out of class. I couldn't take it anymore." Her wide eyes searched his. "I mean, haven't you noticed how she stares?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably. He did know, but he also knew how it was to be seen as a freak for something as innocent at looking at someone. "Is Cass the other new girl?" When his companion nodded he pushed a hand through his upstanding shock of hair. "Maybe she's just really shy or something, Lucy. I mean, you shouldn't label her as being scary for just looking at you."

Lucy shivered. "It's not like she's looking AT you, it's like she's looking through you.." The girl turned and held a hand out pleadingly to Norman. "It scares me. I feel like she wants to hurt me. It's almost like she's-"

"Not even human?"

The two children jumped slightly at the defensive growl of the new voice.

The cluttered mess that was the dark-haired girl strode purposefully over to the two companions, fixing them both with a level glare. "Quite a cozy little rendezvous. All alone up here, huh?" The newcomer shoved her hands into the pockets of the over-sized denim jacket she wore, looking quite annoyed with the both of them. "It's dangerous to be someplace you're not supposed to be, you know. If something... happened, who would know?"

Norman frowned. He didn't like where this was going at all. Behind him, Lucy shook her head. An expression somewhere between shock and irritation coloring her face.

"Look, if you're trying to take the head bully position, you're supposed to do that by beating up Alvin," Norman spat. The girl frowned right back. "I'm no bully, I'm an exterminator. I get rid of poisonous vermin."

"You're! You're a monster!" Lucy screamed, running past the other girl and down the access stairwell, the door of which was still gaping open like an startled mouth. The two remaining children didn't move as the redhead left, but Norman wondered at the faint glow of red light that he swore he glimpsed for just a moment. He blinked, and his vision cleared. Norman and Cass stared each other down tensely.

"You need to smarten up," she advised him, pushing a hand through her bedraggled hair. "Don't you know her type? The games they like to play? What they do to people like you? She's a.." the girl trailed off as though censoring a word kids their age should not use. "She'll chew you up and spit out what's left of you."

Norman crossed his arms. "She's a nice enough person. Heck, she's the first person in this school who's wanted to be my friend without just wanting to USE me!" He stalked over to the unmoved form of Cass and glared. "Why should I believe you over her?"

A faint squeak from the stairwell door caused both children to look up as a red-faced Neil Downe began to back down the stairs. Had he followed Cass or come on his own? Before Norman could put together the words to say he hadn't meant to include his best friend in that comparison, the larger boy had given him a contemptuous glare. With a huffed "Fine, then!", Neil was gone.

"I can't say why you should trust me, Norman. All I can tell you is that my name is Cass, and you're playing with something dangerous."

The boy turned back to the girl, venom in his glare. "Whatever you're trying to do, just leave me alone. You've got my best friend mad at me, and the first girl who's ever actually wanted to be my friend got scared off because of you!"

Cass growled at him. "Don't give me too much credit, you were the one who said-!"

Norman fumed right back at the girl and her hand-me-down wardrobe. "I don't know why I'm talking to you. Leave me alone!" With that, the boy ran after his best friend. "Neil! Neil, wait up!"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So it seems suspicions are on the rise that we may have a demon in our midst! Are they right? It may be too early to tell just yet!

* * *

The building was all but abandoned as Norman headed back through the middle school. The siren's song of the three o'clock bell had dispersed both students and faculty alike to the four winds as though they'd never been there. The boy shoved a hand through his broom-like hair as he stood in the science lab. Neil's things were gone. His locker had been abandoned. And to add insult to injury, the janitor was giving Norman that irritated glower that implied he had worn out his welcome for the day.

He dropped his head to his chest and turned his feet towards the front door.

It had always been easier for him to talk to the dead than the living. The living were so quick to judge, to take offense, and to flee. It seemed that no matter how carefully he phrased himself when he intended to speak, something was always misunderstood. And now? Now he'd accidentally hurt the first and only true friend he had by letting his mouth get in front of his brain. With a sigh, Norman adjusted the weight of his backpack and turned to trudge towards the door.

Since _the incident_, he suddenly had an abundance of acquaintances. People wanted to be around him, and it was so overwhelming for the cynical person that he had started to become to accept. Where before he had cold indifference or outright enemies, now he had groupies who watched him breathlessly for some evidence of a supernatural event. There were still a few people who sneered at his gift, but now they did so with a sort of awe. His abilities were real. They had seen it. And more than ever it defined who he was.

Through it all, Neil had stuck by him. The heavier boy had seemingly retained his ability to let everything roll off his back without taking offense. But now Norman had done what no bully had ever managed. He'd actually upset Neil enough for him to run off. What should he do? It wasn't like he had other real friends to ask for advice. Was it better to call Neil, or go to his house and try to explain himself in person? What if Neil didn't want to talk to him? What if, with one heated, thoughtless comment, he'd banished the one genuinely nice peer he had from his life? As he pushed open the school door, Norman noticed a familiar shape sitting on the stoop and smiled with relief.

Neil hadn't gone too far, after all. The other boy was sitting on the school steps, sniffling. He hadn't abandoned Norman just yet. He let the door swing shut as he considered his words carefully.

"Neil," he began, nervous over just how to patch up this particular rift in their still-new friendship. At last, he flopped down on the steps beside the other boy. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. These girls... these girls and their weird problems are completely messing me up."

The other boy nodded, but didn't look over at Norman just yet.

"I know, I just... I just realized when you said that - I really did kinda use you at first, didn't I? I wanted to see Bub, or at least know he was around, so badly! And then I thought, hey! Ask the dude who can see ghosts!"

Neil let out a short puff of air. "I didn't mean to do that. It just... it hurt to think for a minute that you thought I was like the guys who just want to hang out with you since you saved the town and all. I know how much those people bug you. I- I know I can be pretty oblivious sometimes, but.."

"I don't think that," Norman confided, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I mean, to be honest? It was pretty great to have someone be excited by the idea that I could talk to ghosts, instead of thinking I was nuts, or doing it for attention."

"I'm sorry too," Neil allowed a faint smile. "Friends?" He held out a hand, which Norman shook gladly.

"Friends."

The larger boy stood, prompting Norman to do the same. "Well, I'd better get home. Salma's gonna kill me if I don't have her outline studied by the time she calls me." Neil glanced down at his shoes for a moment, then grinned up at his friend. "See you Monday, Norman."

Norman nodded with a faint smile, watching his friend until he disappeared in the distance. The mid-afternoon sky was still clear, and the boy couldn't help but feel that this was a good sign. The storm clouds of misunderstanding had been cleared up, and now it was smooth sailing.

"Good grief, you two are worse than a couple of girls, you know that?"

Aaaand cue disappointment. Norman turned to frown at Cass. The girl's messy hair obscured her eyes, and he wondered why she didn't have it cut.

"I didn't ask for your opinions," he retorted, turning and starting for home. Cass fell into step beside him, indifferent to his distaste.

"Dangerous to wander around alone," she observed, choosing to ignore his comment. "Anything could happen to a lone kid."

"I didn't volunteer to walk you home," he snapped, fed up with whatever the strange game she was playing.

"I'm walking *YOU* home," came the reply, "Since you don't know about that kind of.." again, the girl paused strangely before finishing her sentence, seeming to have trouble speaking for a moment. "Girl. What kind of girl you're dealing with." The two walked in silence for a moment longer.

"I wish you understood," Cass grumbled at last. "Bad things happen to idiots."

Norman nodded to the few faint apparitions still the alleys of Blithe Hollow, watching them from a respectful distance.

"I wish I did, too," he admitted, wondering why he'd become the target for the strangest bully he'd ever encountered. "Girls are so weird."

A few ghosts called softly to him as he and Cass passed by, but didn't approach. The boy felt an odd compulsion to try to intimidate the strange female shadowing him.

"Hey Wendy," he called to the ghost lady clutching a phantom blow-dryer, who paused in her eternal battle against the cowlick on top of her head to smile hesitantly at him and wave before floating back towards her customary place.

"Stupid," Cass grunted, pushing past him to press the button for the crosswalk signal. With relief, he noted that they had almost made it to his block. "You should have better things to do."

"Norman!" The boy looked up sharply at his father's distant call. Perry Babcock stood in front of their house, waving cautiously at his son from up the street. "Hurry up inside and clean up, we're going out for dinner!"

That ever-so optimistic voice in the back of his head gleefully chirped "Gee, he's actually willing to be seen in public with you! Things ARE looking up!" The boy crushed the annoying voice, waving back to his dad in lieu of an answer. Truthfully, he didn't entirely trust his malicious inside voice not to become an outside voice sometimes.

"Stay with them. You're safer when you're with someone, necromancer."

Norman's bag hit the sidewalk behind him. "W-What did you call me?"

"Necromancer," Cass repeated. "I'm surprised I can say it, but I'm not going hesitate to now that I do know."

Norman backed away slowly, memories of the angry mob screaming at him as he frantically tried to lull Agatha back to sleep clawed at his mind. "L-Look, I don't know what you heard," Norman declared, "But I have NOT been actually raising any zombies. Nope. Nada. No zombies."

He risked taking his eyes off of her for a moment to cast a frantic glance up and down the street to confirm that it was indeed zombie-free.

The girl rolled her eyes, moving across the crosswalk with nary a care about his over-protesting. "The modern world has corrupted many words, made them take on meanings in popular culture that they were never meant to have. Witches, zombies..." She paused in the middle of the road, glancing back to look at him significantly.

"Necromancers."

"What are you?" Norman whispered, slowly picking up his backpack before following her intimidating presence.

"Me?" Cass smiled ruefully. "Can't you tell?" She blew some hair out of her face before turning away from him and crossing to the sidewalk.

"Maybe you can't. Maybe you're too... sheltered or something. That may be your whole problem." She bit her lip, glancing down at the cracked concrete as though it could give her searching eyes some answers. "It means to speak.. to them." The faint apparition of the mobster and his school of phantom fish bounded past, still attempting to flee the city. They weren't making very good time, Norman's mind noted ridiculously. His feet gained the familiar ground of his home block, but a terrifying feeling of being somewhere alien pressed with grave insistence on his senses as he watched the ghost mobster bound slowly down the road.

"You're going to die, you know," the girl informed him, not bothering to move, or even glance over to where he was standing. His attention snapped back to her, and he found himself backing away again, positioning himself between her and his home. He wasn't sure whether he was preparing to run home or trying to shield his family from this stranger. In all honesty, fight or flight seemed to be warring it out over just which one of them had to take responsibility for the situation and neither wanted to make the first move.

"They won't all be soothed into peace. They can't, in some cases. You're going to die trying to talk about feelings to some specter that doesn't even remember it was ever human."

Norman shrugged at the frank and brutal assessment, trying to act as though he wasn't bothered that she seemed to know an awful lot that he wasn't sure she should. "At least I'll know I tried," he retorted. "That's all most of them want, is for someone to just try."

Cass's deadpan expression turned sour. "My brother used to say that," she grumbled. She ran a thumb over the strap of her own well-worn backpack. "Then he realized he was wrong."

"Why'd he change his mind?" Norman asked, despite the feeling that he probably shouldn't.

Cass favored him with one of the long, silent stares that had kept the school bullies from making eye contact with her. "I'll introduce you sometime," she promised softly, a faint note of sorrow touching her voice. The boy wavered. For a moment, the intimidating presence had faded from Cass, and he saw a sad, strangely lonely girl. Agatha's image flickered like a sputtering candle in his mind, but the similarity - and that was all he could rightfully recognize it as - faded away like a drop of blood in the ocean. This was not Agatha. Somehow though, they were similar.

Cass' gaze sharpened, and she straightened self-consciously.

"I'm not strong enough yet, but..." She furiously worked her mouth for a moment before spitting out the words "the time will soon be here." The boy furrowed his brow in consternation at the odd display, almost missing her words. "You should be careful who you find yourself alone with. Who you trust."

She loomed into his personal space for a moment, her dark eyes pinning him in place like a specimen in a display case. "I can't say why, but I will tell you this: be mindful of the salt. Keep your hands to yourself, Norman Babcock, and cover your mouth when you yawn."

Norman gaped after the girl as she turned and walked away at a brisk clip. When she had at last disappeared from view, he began backing slowly towards his house. He was a little afraid that if he turned his back on her, she'd suddenly appear in front of him again when he least expected it.

Perry looked up as his son entered the family home, looking more shell-shocked than usual. "Who were you talking to out there, Norman? We're going to be late if you don't hurry and change."

"I-I don't know," Norman stammered, glancing over to the living room door where his grandmother's spirit stared at him in concern. "I really don't know."


End file.
